


In The Still Of The Night

by Anonymous



Category: The Mighty Boosh (TV)
Genre: Alternate Ending to Series 3, Angst, Blood Drinking, M/M, Not as serious as it sounds, Romance, Suicidal Themes, Vampires, kind of, post series 3
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-11
Updated: 2017-11-20
Packaged: 2019-01-15 21:18:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12329067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Howard returns to the Nabootique at the end of 'The Chokes' defeated, humiliated... and changed.





	1. Change

**Author's Note:**

> I don't think this is going to be hugely gory, but figured it's worth warning for anyway. Hope you enjoy!

Howard remembers things quite clearly; walking along, minding his own business and then the sudden, sharp pain in his neck. He recalls being weak from blood loss; his attacker hauling him up, and shoving his bleeding wrist to Howard’s mouth.

 

When he comes to, he can still taste the blood, and finds himself unwittingly licking his lips for the last traces of it. He sits up and looks around, confused. He appears to be lying on a pile of plywood and rubber foam pieces.

 

‘You all right, mate?’ says a man’s voice.

 

As his eyesight refocuses to the darkness, he finds himself looking right at the face of his attacker. Howard tenses, but the man just crouches there, watching him. He’s dressed all in black; a crisp shirt and trousers with a silver tie, and a long coat. Facially he's kind of unremarkable looking, even with his fancy clothes and squatting on top of all the rubble.

 

‘Excuse me?’ says Howard, his own voice strange to his ears.

 

‘How are you feeling, mate?’ says the man, somewhat exasperatedly.

 

Howard blinks up at him, and then carefully rises to his feet. There’s no head rush, and his limbs don’t click or ache. He does feel somewhat disoriented. The man is still watching him expectantly.

 

‘I’m... fine, thank you,’ Howard says finally.

 

‘Oh, good.’

 

Howard regards him for a moment, already knowing what the answer to the next question he wants to ask is, but he can’t not ask it.

 

‘Are you a vampire?’

 

The man laughs.

 

‘Yeah,’ he says. ‘And so are you, now.’

 

Howard sits there, staring into space.

 

‘This can’t be happening,’ he whispers. ‘I’ve got so much to give.’

 

‘Easy there, mate. You’re a virgin, aren’t you?’

 

Howard looks up at him incredulously.

 

‘You can tell?’ he asks.

 

‘Ha! _No_ ,’ says the vampire.

 

Enraged, Howard snarls at him, and is shocked when an actual snarl comes out.

 

‘All right, all right!’ says the vampire, holding his hands up. ‘Put the fangs away, I mean no harm.’

 

‘Fangs?’ asks Howard, touching his hand to his teeth and feeling that he does indeed have two very pointy canines on either side of his mouth.

 

‘Yeah. Don’t worry, they’ll retract in a bit.’

 

‘...Where are we?’ Howard asks after a pause, looking around again.

 

‘Oh, not far from where I bit you. I hid you in this skip while you went through the change.’

 

Howard looks about in alarm, wrinkling his nose as the vampire continues.

 

‘It’s a twenty-four hour process, you see. Saves you waking up in a morgue or a coffin. Thought I owed you a favour, what with the mix up and everything.’

 

‘The mix up?’

 

‘Yeah. Thought you were someone else. I’ll bet you use the same shampoo as him.’

 

‘Oh, well thanks a _lot_.’

 

The vampire stands suddenly.

 

‘Anyway, I’d best be off. Don’t tell anyone what’s happened to you and best avoid the midday sun. You’ll be okay.’

 

‘You’re leaving?’ asks Howard, looking up at him in surprise.

 

‘No hard feelings, yeah?’ calls the vampire over his shoulder as he sprints away. ‘Oh, and make sure you clean up after yourself, too...!’

 

Howard stares after him, realising then how sharp his vision has suddenly become. He stands and pulls himself up and out of the skip neatly.

 

There are several pieces of large debris on the ground, including a manky-looking sofa and a couple of toilet seats. The vampire must have buried him under all of it and then thrown it all out before he woke up.

 

Charming.

 

This is just fucking _typical_.

 

He’s supposed to be in Denmark right now, becoming a famous actor. Except of course that kind of success would never happen for him. He’d known that even an hour before the gigantic crab costume was brought out.

 

That’s why he’s been spending the last week sitting in a hotel or wandering around the London streets aimlessly, postponing the moment he’ll have to return to the shop and admit his failure for as long as possible.

 

He has no idea what to do now.

 

He’s known for a while that vampires exist. Naboo mentioned them once or twice, but never really did so with any sense of urgency or warning, and Vince was the only one really interested enough to ask questions. Howard hadn’t quite believed it, and didn’t stick around to listen to any of Naboo’s answers.

 

Howard quickly figures out where he is, and begins the walk back to his hotel.

 

Who deals with vampires, he wonders; the Board of Shaman? Do vampires _need_ dealing with?

 

It seems as though he should know the answer to the latter question. Vampires _have_ to have gotten their unsavoury reputation from somewhere.

 

The trouble is, Howard doesn’t really... feel _that_ different.

 

All right, so he _does_ kind of feel like he’s floating as he walks along, and he’s almost dazzled by how clear the world is despite the darkness, and he is getting pretty hungry, but so far there’s no great compulsion to go and kill anyone, or do bad things.

 

He’s still _him_.

 

He’s sure of it.

 

He picks up some fish and chips on the way back, and they taste good and go down fine. He’s even full by the time the newspaper wrappings are empty.

 

And if he finds himself still licking his lips for a more metallic taste, he doesn’t let it bother him.

 

When he arrives at the hotel, he breezes past the front desk and along the corridors without making a sound, and he’s relieved. He doubts there would be any questions about why he didn’t return last night, but he doesn’t want too much attention drawn to that, just in case.

 

He lets himself into his room, and looks around.

 

He’s not tired; far from it. But the outside world is too much, right at this moment, and he wants to sleep on it and hope that maybe he’ll wake up in the morning and find this was all just a bad dream.

 

Maybe he’s still lying in that alley, passed out after a brutal mugging. That would be nice, he thinks.

 

He decides to get ready for bed, still feeling wide-awake yet wanting to curl up somewhere dark.

 

He showers, and then brushes his teeth, not wanting to think about what might be stuck to them.

 

He leans over the sink to spit, and then straightens up and frowns, wondering why there’s a rectangular hole in the wall looking out into an identical bathroom beyond.

 

The mirror, he realises. He’s looking at the mirror above the sink.

 

And his reflection isn’t looking back at him.

 

He waves a hand and tugs on his clothes, and yet the only thing that moves in the mirror-world is his toothbrush; floating about on its own.

 

It’s like he’s not even there.

 

Well _good_ , he thinks, after a while. He never has to stare into his own shifty little eyes again. The rest of the world can moan about them all they like, but he doesn’t have to.

 

He doesn’t have to give a _damn_ anymore.

 

He sees the mirror fracture before he registers pulling back his arm and clenching his hand into a fist.

 


	2. Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Howard goes home.

 

Howard decides to return to the _Nabootique_ precisely two weeks after he left. He pays for the damage to the mirror, mumbling some nonsense about slipping on some soap, and then rushes away into the night.

 

He arrives at the shop to find Vince, Naboo and Bollo crowded around the little telly. He tries to postpone the inevitable again; attempting to fob them off with an overblown excuse for coming back, even deigning to ignore the fact that they _literally_ replaced him while he was gone, but of course his fucking advert comes on at that moment to ruin it.

 

At least _that_ bit of news is out of the way now.

 

The three of them all have a good laugh, which stings, but he makes himself stand there and search their faces for any signs of realisation... or fear.

 

He waits, but soon Vince gets up and goes upstairs, saying he’s out tonight, and Naboo just mutters something about tea, following him up.

 

Howard turns to Bollo, who’s switching the telly off, thinking that _surely_ he can smell something’s different.

 

But Bollo just lumbers after Naboo, shaking his head at the sight of Howard staring at him.

 

Howard stands there in the empty shop, gawping at the stairs.

 

Is he still welcome up, he wonders?

 

Sure, Naboo fired that Adam guy, but...

 

The problem is that Naboo and Bollo have never really paid him much mind, and so their reactions have not actually made it clear whether they’ve sensed anything off with him or not.

 

Maybe they know but they don’t care, thinks Howard; maybe vampires just aren’t that dangerous?

 

That must be the case, he thinks, because if either of them believed Howard to be a threat, he knows they wouldn’t think twice about getting rid of him. Hell, Bollo would probably have already done it by now.

 

That, or they just haven’t noticed.

 

He feels deflated.

 

Deep down, he’d expected _some_ reaction to his return; of course including the awful advert, but he’d thought at least one of them would have something to say about the fact he isn’t human anymore.

 

Howard sighs, going outside to pull down the security shutters (mercifully free of any ‘information’ about him), and then returns indoors to lock the shop door.

 

In retrospect, he really is better off that his ‘dead’ body wasn’t left where it was and discovered. The police probably would have quickly identified him as the ‘Windy Blast Fast’ guy, and that’s really _not_ how Howard wants to be remembered. He’s also not sure how Vince would react to knowing he’s dead again. If he _is_ dead; he’s still not sure about the classification.

 

He dimly remembers seeing his own funeral back when they worked at the zoo and he’d died that time; with four mostly indifferent people standing around his coffin. Sure, Vince had seemed a bit sad then, but now? They’ve drifted so far apart, Howard’s not certain that he wants to know. Vince would probably just be repulsed.

 

Howard finally makes himself climb the stairs, and he looks around the flat, which is unchanged.

 

Maybe Naboo can fix this; change him back into a human? Or maybe the only ‘fixing’ Naboo will do for him is to put a wooden stake through his heart, he thinks sarcastically; if that’s really how you kill a vampire. After all, Naboo has never really _liked_ him, even when he was alive.

 

He keeps nagging at himself to just _tell_ Naboo anyway. He’s likely the only person who will be able to give Howard answers, or at least make the right decision. For all Howard knows, this harmless aspect of his vampirism could just be for a short duration, and then he’ll go full Count Dracula. Except less cloaks and castles and more sandals and bebop.

 

But he can’t make himself do it. He stands there, watching and listening to everyone moving around; and he can hear them all if he tries; Bollo eating bananas in his room, Naboo humming over the noise of the boiling kettle as he meditates, and Vince back in his and Howard’s room; a hissing noise as he, no doubt, straightens his hair.

 

There’s no need to raise the subject now, he thinks. He’s only just got back, and he needs to find out how things are now; if they’re any different. He thinks he sensed a little anger from Vince earlier, and maybe that wasn’t because Howard left, but because he’s _come back_. He has to know what’s going on with him and Vince first; somewhere along the way something went badly wrong between them, and he desperately wants to fix it.

 

He’s been maintaining the belief that it’s been worth dealing with Naboo and Bollo’s derision all this time because _Vince_ still likes him, except now he isn’t sure that’s even the case. So if Vince doesn’t want anything to do with him, then Howard will tell Naboo what happened sooner rather than later, and Naboo can evict him or kill him if he has to. He’d like to think he could just leave now and brave the world alone, but he’s learned in the last two weeks that that’s not the case. He _died_ , for heaven’s sake.

 

Besides, as a vampire he may _legally_ be already dead, and he needs to make sure all his affairs are in order before he actually goes; if he has to. Affairs such as whether Vince is going to be okay without him.

 

A nasty voice in his head tells him that of course Vince will be okay; he doesn’t give a damn about Howard and hasn’t for ages. Vince can make friends wherever he goes, and Naboo and Bollo would never knowingly let anything happen to him.

 

But Howard’s thinking of more _practical_ matters, he tells himself; like money. He didn’t actually walk away from Jurgen Haabemaaster with nothing. Humiliating advertising pays quite well, as it turns out. And anyway, Naboo and Bollo have never actually managed to keep Vince _out_ of trouble.

 

Whatever happens, Howard just wants to make sure everything is as it should be.

 

‘Why you just standing there, you ball-bag?’ asks Naboo suddenly, grimacing like the sight of Howard is too awful to bear. ‘Nearly gave me a heart attack!’

 

‘Sorry, Naboo,’ Howard mutters, walking towards the bathroom. He’s not ready to be alone with Vince yet; and he doesn’t even know if he’s still got a bed. Recently, Vince started lamenting the fact he didn’t have the space for a double bed, and if Adam hasn’t been living here (and Howard can’t detect that he has), Vince may well have got rid of his and Howard’s singles in order to make way for one.

 

He thinks about how Vince had looked when he walked in; thin, pretty and pale and looking far more like a vampire than Howard felt. Maybe he would think this was cool? Being a self-confessed ‘goth’ (and Howard’s still kind of debating that one), Vince is mad about vampires and danger and death and stuff, isn’t he?

 

Except, Howard’s been a vampire for nearly a week, and he still isn’t feeling particularly cool. He can’t see himself fitting in with Vince’s crowd or being featured solo on the cover of _Cheekbone_.

 

He’s not feeling particularly dangerous, either.

 

When he needs to eat he’s just... hungry. He doesn’t think he’s turned into a ravenous monster.

 

He’s been getting by fine eating regular food, but from the first morning he found bloodstains on his sheets and realised he’d been sucking on his knuckles where the wounds he got from smashing the mirror were in his sleep. He caved and bought some pig’s blood from the local butcher, which seemed to put a stop to that, and the blood was... good.

 

But he hasn’t found himself thinking about going out and slaughtering people, well not _seriously_ , anyway. It’s more like a distant curiosity, and he feels guilty and disgusted with himself for even pondering it.

 

Another change is that he has no pulse, but he bleeds when he gets a paper cut (and the fact he can still get paper cuts is fucking annoying). Without a reflection he has no idea what he looks like, but he barely needs to shave so at least _that_ can probably wait for a day or two. When he’s angry he’s still more inclined to give himself a Chinese burn than go on a rampage.

 

He’s willing to bet it’s just this way for him; only _he_ could make vampirism mundane.

 

Howard Moon, destroying society’s fantasies and fads since – ... well, it hardly matters now, does it?

 

He’s not getting any older.


	3. Vince

Howard’s bed hasn’t been touched since he left.

 

He lies there in the dark, staring at the ceiling.

 

He’s not entirely sure if he needs sleep like he used to, but if he’s not telling people he’s a vampire yet then he might as well train himself to kip at night. Daylight, as it turns out, isn’t lethal to him, but it’s uncomfortable, and he's better off avoiding it directly. He’ll probably have to start running any and all errands to the shops himself in the mornings, because Vince is hardly ever up by midday and sending him out when he’s not still groggy from an early wakeup call risks him diverting into Topshop.

 

Howard hears a noise, and strains his ears. The side door to the flat is being unlocked, and then the heavy footsteps of someone in platform boots sounds on the stairs.

 

It’s only about one o’clock, which is very early for Vince to be returning from a night out.

 

Vince doesn’t turn the light on when he enters their room, which again, is unusual. Howard remains still and silent, listening to him undress and then get into bed.

 

He listens to Vince wriggle about like he often does, and waits for him to settle. Eventually, Vince seems to find a comfortable position, and lies still, but Howard knows he’s still awake because he can hear his unsteady breaths.

 

After a few minutes, Howard rolls over to face Vince’s side of the room, and opens his eyes just a fraction. He can see, quite clearly, that Vince is watching him. Howard shuts his eyes again quickly, but Vince doesn’t seem to realise he was looking. And then Howard remembers that Vince probably can’t see half as well as he can. He may not even be looking at Howard; just staring into the darkness.

 

Eventually, Vince falls asleep, and Howard follows shortly after.

 

Howard wakes up at just gone five. It’s still dark, and a good time for him to get things done. He gets out of bed, careful not to wake Vince although he’s nowhere near as heavy footed as he once was.

 

He finds himself standing by Vince’s bed before he knows it, watching his mop of black hair on the pillow, curiously. If Vince wakes up now he knows he’ll never live it down, but he also knows he could get away quick enough before Vince noticed, and for some reason he can’t tear himself away just yet.

 

He wonders what Vince thinks about everything that’s happened in the last year. A good deal of it has been bloody awful, especially for Howard. He’d just like to find out if Vince is aware of how much they’ve drifted apart, and if that bothers him at all; if he even noticed that Howard had (by all intents and purposes) moved out.

 

They didn’t live together when they worked at the Zooniverse. Occasionally they’d both stayed in the little keeper’s hut, but still returned to separate homes most evenings. Howard suspects that if they go back to living apart it will be a definite move backwards; a possible end to their friendship, even.

 

So... should he be making an effort now? Wouldn’t it just make more sense to let it end?

 

Recently, Vince has been going off with other friends (or, more accurately, a new set of friends each week) and staying out longer. At first, Howard assumed this was just a temporary flourishing of the more superficial side of Vince’s personality. Now, however, Howard wonders if this has been more about Vince not wanting to spend time with _him_.

 

It wouldn’t be a complete shock. Howard has never told him, but he was always surprised that Vince wanted to be friends with him in the first place. They don’t make sense together, and they’ve always known it. And yet, somehow, they just seemed to fit.

 

However, in recent weeks Howard has had to accept that the golden age of their friendship is long over. Hell, Vince has even favoured _Bob Fossil’s_ company over his on a couple of occasions. Yes, that’s probably mainly because Fossil has offered Vince several opportunities for fame, but still.

 

_Bob fucking Fossil?_

 

Even the vampire who bit Howard was looking for somebody else, even if he did choose to give him a new life.

 

It all depends on Vince where he goes next, Howard realises, as he watches him snuffle into his duvet. How things have changed. Vince used to look to _him_ for advice and instruction. He doubts he’ll ever have what Vince wants or needs again.

 

He feels unsure and lost. Newborn.

 

But he has to try; he wants to.

 

He can hear Vince’s gently thumping heartbeat; something that he doesn’t have anymore, and he has a strange desire to press his palm against Vince’s chest to remind himself of what it used to feel like.

 

But no, he isn’t about to slide a hand under Vince’s duvet to do so like some looming pervert. Staring at one’s sleeping friend is bad enough, he thinks, as he turns and heads to the bathroom.

 

Howard showers, brushes his teeth and when he’s dressed he tries to sort his hair out as best he can without being able to see it. Once its smoky fineness is teased into how he thinks it usually would be, he strokes a hand over his chin and cheeks, and decides he can afford to wait one more day to shave. He’s glad he didn’t shave for the advert, because by now his moustache really would just be a mocha-stain.

 

As he eats some toast for breakfast, he looks around the flat and wonders how he could smuggle blood in without Naboo noticing. It’s unlikely to work. Maybe he could get by eating black pudding, but he doesn’t know if that will satisfy the bloodlust.

 

Down in the shop he sweeps up because it obviously wasn’t done yesterday, and goes around tidying and sorting stock. Stationary Village has been largely left alone, but therefore allowed to fall into disrepair. He fixes it up and restocks it, wondering if there’s any significance to it not being trashed. He switches the little telly on, and watches until around six-thirty, before switching it off in favour of reading his book about molluscs until eight.

 

He has the tills ready by eight-thirty, and after fifteen more minutes of boredom he just opens the shop anyway.

 

It’s strangely comforting just doing his job again. They don’t get too many customers, but Howard makes an honest effort to greet every one. A very pretty woman enters about an hour into his shift, and Howard tries extra hard to be welcoming and appealing, but she just walks straight back out again.

 

So he hasn’t really changed at all, then.

 

He finds that people are far more receptive if he just quietly creeps up to them, makes a suggestion that they buy what they’re holding and then leaves. He’s sold quite a few little knick-knacks so far. Unfortunately, no one has yet picked up or looked at one of his Jazz LPs, but he figures it’s early days yet.

 

He’s still afraid someone will see through him, or that he’ll come face to face with another vampire. He hasn’t seen one apart from the one who bit him, and he doesn’t know what will happen if he does.

 

It’s best to go largely unnoticed, he decides.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry there's not been much action yet, it will get more interesting soon!


	4. The Shop

Vince comes down at about eleven-thirty, clutching the latest copy of _Cheekbone_ and nodding at Howard who nods back at him from behind the counter.

 

‘All right?’ says Vince, making his way over to the chair near the front.

 

Howard nods, watching Vince move away closely, wondering if there’s any way he might know about him already and just doesn’t care enough to comment. When Vince doesn’t say anything else, Howard decides to test the waters.

 

‘What’s the excuse, then?’ he says.

 

Vince clucks his tongue and frowns in thought as he sits down; crossing his legs and rotating his right ankle so that his platform boot twirls in the air and threatens to knock a few old books off the little table beside him.

 

‘There were all pins and needles in the carpet,’ he says finally, opening the magazine. ‘Really went into my bare feet when I got out of bed they did.’

 

Howard raises an eyebrow.

 

‘I didn’t notice any,’ he says flatly.

 

‘Well yeah, but you’ve got thick skin like a fireman’s boots, haven’t you?’

 

‘You should have put shoes on.’

 

‘I couldn’t reach them, could I?’

 

‘Well you obviously managed eventually.’

 

‘Bollo brought them to me.’

 

‘Of course he did,’ Howard mutters to himself, taking a seat on the stool behind the counter.

 

He doesn’t know if he’s bitterer about the fact that Bollo has always adored Vince unconditionally and pandered to him, or that Vince so readily accepted the attention.

 

He notices Vince blinking at him over the top of _Cheekbone_ ; it seems he sensed the disdain in his last comment. When Howard looks up, however, he rolls his eyes and goes back to the page in front of him.

 

The day goes by without much excitement, but it’s decidedly more awkward than ever before. They keep apart from each other for most of it; Howard retreating to the back to do some stocktaking, and Vince smiles and flirts with the handful of customers who come in, selling just enough as usual. Howard decides against trying to compete. If Vince looks at the inventory, he’ll see that Howard managed very well on his own that morning and probably get suspicious, but he knows he won’t. He might realise that something’s off if he witnesses Howard convincing anyone to buy something, however.

 

There’s no reprieve for Howard, though. All day Vince’s presence; his shiny top and silly little jeans and how he’s definitely skinnier than before Howard left, distract him. Not that he looks bad; in fact, he looks rather nice today. Although, Howard suspects that Vince would rather be burned at the stake for what he was wearing than be told his outfit was ‘nice’. But it’s all Howard’s brain can offer up; he doesn’t understand fashion terms the way Vince does.

 

Vince is also quieter than usual; only commenting about Shoreditch life very occasionally and not pestering Howard much for any response. Howard might have assumed that this is because Vince doesn’t really care to hear Howard’s opinions, but he’s not sure if that’s the case.

 

Whenever they get close to each other, Vince’s heart rate speeds up or flutters to the point where Howard almost doesn’t have to strain his ears to hear it. Vince doesn’t appear scared, but there’s a tentativeness to the way he moves today that Howard thinks is new.

 

Could he know; Howard wonders again? Could he be nervous or even terrified of Howard now? Or maybe it’s simply the tension between them that is unbearable for Vince, too, and he’s anticipating the day Howard gives in and leaves and he can finally live his life the way he wants to.

 

When they’re finally closed, Vince disappears straight upstairs, leaving Howard to sweep up.

 

Howard comes up after dealing with the cash, and finds Vince eating and watching telly with Naboo and Bollo. He hovers uncertainly behind the sofa, unsure if he’s welcome. They don’t look up, and so he edges along the back of the sofa and slides carefully into the leather armchair.

 

They’re watching some awful fashion programme, no doubt chosen by Vince, but it’s on the BBC so at least his advert won’t pop up.

 

A saucepan is resting on the hob across the room, but Howard won’t risk embarrassing himself by going to see if there’s any food left for him.

 

He’d prefer some blood, anyway.

 

He thinks there might be a butcher’s still open in a Sainsbury’s nearby. He could maybe nip down there in a short while and see what they’ve got.

 

‘Jesus, Howard!’ Vince hisses, snapping Howard out of his thoughts. ‘When’d you come up?’

 

Vince is staring at him in alarm; hand touched to his heart briefly and, yes, Howard can just about hear it pumping over the noise from the TV. Naboo and Bollo only spare them both glances, apparently just barely registering the commotion. They must be extremely stoned, Howard realises, which would also explain why he hasn’t heard a peep out of them all day and the distant scent of hash.

 

He gives a small shrug.

 

‘About a minute ago,’ he says, mildly.

 

‘I didn’t hear you,’ says Vince, eyeing him curiously.

 

‘Yes, well, I didn’t want to disturb.’

 

‘When did _you_ get good at tiptoeing?’

 

‘Oh, I can tiptoe with the best of them, sir.’

 

Vince frowns at that.

 

‘Oh, did they teach you tiptoeing in _Denver_?’ he asks.

 

‘Den- _mark_ , Vince,’ corrects Howard.

 

‘ _Whatever_.’

 

Howard sighs.

 

‘No, they didn’t,’ he says.

 

Vince huffs and turns back to the telly.

 

Howard watches him out of the corner of his eye for a bit, pretending to be watching the programme too.

 

He must be more light-footed than he’d thought. Vince wasn’t wrong to ask about tiptoeing; being so big Howard’s never been able to get anywhere undetected. He always maintained that a man like him had no need to _sneak_ around places, but the truth is he’s always slightly resented his own heavy gait; particularly during awkward social gatherings. Not like Vince, who’s difficult to locate in his own duvet, let alone in a nightclub in full swing.

 

Remembering how he’d surprised Naboo yesterday, Howard speculates over just how far he could get and stay undetected now.


	5. Late Nights

By the end of the month, things are almost back to normal. No one seems to have noticed anything off about Howard; or at least he hasn’t been killed in his sleep or kicked out so he assumes nobody knows.

 

He buys blood sparingly; heating it up to drink when everyone else has gone out or is still in bed. He thought he was in for it one day when Bollo discovered a packet at the back of the fridge, but he had just feigned innocence and suggested that it was one of Naboo’s potion supplies. Bollo turned out to be fairly disinterested, and no more was said on the matter, even after it disappeared from the fridge. Howard _would_ question Bollo’s position as Naboo’s familiar, but as Naboo himself still hasn’t picked up on anything weird, he supposes he can’t really judge him.

 

He is perhaps a little restless, but he still doesn’t have much of a desire to go out and socialise, let alone hunt. The only person he finds himself interested in spending time with, is Vince.

 

Things are a little less cold between them now, but Howard still missed the ease and naturalness they'd enjoyed in each other's company before everything went so wrong. And Vince is still going out most evenings.

 

After several weekends of the same thing, it’s starting to grate on Howard’s nerves. He’s never been particularly fond of Vince’s other friends, but he’s always accepted that if the two of them didn’t have their own separate circles they’d likely kill each other. Not that he has or especially wants his own ‘circle’ of people. He’s always had individual friends like Lester and... well, there used to be Leroy but Howard hasn’t spoken to him in a long time. All the same, neither of those people are Vince, and he finds that he can’t stop thinking about him.

 

It bothers him when he’s lying in bed without the steady beating of Vince’s heartbeat in the background.

 

Still not requiring much sleep, he’s taken to following Vince for the first hour or two of his nights out, which he knows is a little unorthodox but the way he sees it he’s just looking out for his friend. After all, he knows that one of a few groups of them turned their backs on Vince after the disastrous show with the Black Tubes.

 

However, he’s also loath to admit that there’s something about Vince that he finds fascinating, and he can’t say whether it’s a new feeling or not. He just wants to understand him better; know that he's happy.

 

One night he’s following Vince’s group as usual, several paces back; disguised by the darkness.

 

From the shadows he watches the little group; all laughing and joking. Vince prances around; beaming at all of them as he leads the way.

 

And Howard realises something; Vince is beautiful.

 

He always has been, of course. But he _really_ is.

 

Howard feels ashamed then. He doesn’t belong out here with all these young, lively, _alive_ people.

 

He can pick out Vince’s heartbeat and the scent of his hair and body products from all the rest of the group, until they disappear inside their club of choice and the awful music and smell of other bodies and cigarettes drown both out.

 

He takes off out of the city to walk through the woods for a while, as he often does now.

 

After a few hours; he’s not sure how many, he hears snatches of a far-off conversation somewhere in the darkness.

 

 _‘...young and foolish. Look upon the door, son,’_ says a deep voice. _‘See what there is behind it for you.’_

_‘Cool, thanks,’_ a second voice says. _‘I’m not going anywhere near your balls though, man.’_

 

Howard panics and flees, fearing that he’ll overhear any more of whatever dubious night time encounter that was. It’s stuff like that that can really destroy innocent childhood dreams about adventuring into the wilderness.

 

He makes it back home in just a few minutes, letting himself through the side door and making his way up into the dark, empty flat. But as soon as he’s hung his coat up, he becomes aware that he’s not alone.

 

He turns around in time to see the light in their bedroom click on, and Vince standing in the doorway.

 

‘Vince!’ says Howard, surprised.

 

Vince was obviously in the middle of getting ready for bed, and Howard wonders if he stopped the moment he found out Howard wasn’t there and has been waiting for him. He looks Howard up and down, seeming worried.

 

‘Where’ve _you_ been?’ he asks.

 

‘Ah,’ says Howard, eyes wide. ‘I thought you were out tonight.’

 

‘I _was,_ yeah! It’s four AM, Howard.’

 

‘Not that late for you.’

 

‘But late for _you_!’

 

Howard stops, eyeing him irritably.

 

‘Excuse you,’ he says. ‘I’m a night owl.’

 

‘More like a night shrew,’ says Vince, still glowering at him.

 

‘Oh, hilarious.’

 

Vince sighs.

 

‘Howard, where _were_ you?’ he says.

 

‘I was at Lester’s, all right?’ Howard lies easily. ‘We got deep into a jazz trance... nothing funny, just – I wouldn’t expect you to understand.’

 

‘Oh, really?’ says Vince, eyes narrowing. ‘There all night, were you?’

 

‘Of course.’

 

Vince unfolds his arms, walking towards him.

 

‘I called Lester Corncrake’s; he said he hasn’t seen you in _weeks_ ,’ he says quietly, as he stops right in front of Howard.

 

‘ – Did he... You did?’ Howard says hesitantly, dread filling him.

 

Vince pauses, relaxing slightly.

 

‘Well, actually he thought the phone was his burglar alarm,’ he admits.

 

Howard nods.

 

‘Yes, he never did get the hang of technology,’ he says regretfully.

 

Vince nods too.

 

‘He picked it up and started dialling “911” and yelling while I was trying to talk to him; it was pretty funny!’ he says, grinning briefly before he’s frowning again. ‘But the point is, he was _asleep_ when I phoned. And I know you haven’t been to see him yet ‘cos he’s been walking around with a colander on his head for three weeks.’

 

Howard stared at him for a moment.

 

‘He’s experimenting with fashion,’ he says meekly.

 

‘He’s experimenting with _sock garters_ , Howard!’ says Vince exasperatedly. ‘I’d hate to know what he strains his vegetables with! And the point is you weren’t with Lester tonight, so where the hell were you?’

 

‘I don’t think I have to explain myself to you, sir!’

 

‘You do now you’ve lied! It’s got to be something well dodgy!’

 

Howard lets out a loud growl, and Vince jumps back slightly in alarm. Howard deflates then, feeling guilty.

 

‘I’m sorry, Vince,’ he says.

 

‘Please just tell me, Howard,’ says Vince, in a soft voice that makes Howard’s dead heart hurt.

 

‘Let’s sit down.’


	6. Understanding

 

Vince switches a lamp on before he joins Howard on the sofa. He jumps up again briefly to grab a fluffy blanket from the armchair, before wrapping it around himself and watching Howard patiently.

 

‘Vince, something’s happened to me,’ says Howard finally, after a few moments spent considering how to explain himself.

 

‘Oh, is it something spiritual?’ asks Vince meaningfully, eyes unbearably blue and wide in the dingy light.

 

Howard bites his lip.

 

‘Erm – sort of?’ he says. ‘Not really.’

 

Vince’s brow furrows slightly and then he seems to realise something, rolling his eyes in exasperation.

 

‘Howard, I _don’t_ want to hear about your new jazz obsession, whatever it is.’

 

Howard shakes his head, scowling.

 

‘Look, it’s not a jazz thing,’ he insists. ‘It’s me. I’ve changed, Vince.’

 

‘Changed?’

 

‘Yeah, you know? Become a man of the night.’

 

Vince starts to laugh, and Howard groans in annoyance.

 

‘Not in that way!’

 

Eventually, after seeming to understand Howard’s serious mood, Vince stops giggling. Although there’s still a little sparkle of mirth in his eyes, he watches Howard curiously.

 

‘Howard,’ he says, carefully. ‘You don’t mean...?’

 

Howard nods. Vince’s eyes widen.

 

‘Yes, Vince,’ says Howard quietly.

 

‘But – are you sure?’ asks Vince, his voice unexpectedly small.

 

Howard nods.

 

‘It happened a few nights ago now,’ he says, ‘and ever since I woke up I’ve been having these cravings that I can’t help having. And don’t worry, I’ve got it under control – but that’s not going to change the fact that I’m different now.’

 

Vince has gone very still, Howard notices.

 

‘Different?’ Vince asks, sounding troubled.

 

‘It’s going to take some getting used to,’ Howard says gently. ‘But I had everything explained to me after the encounter. He was a little abrupt, but it turns out that’s all I needed.’

 

‘Oh, I get it,’ Vince says coldly, standing up. He still looks somewhat confused, but there’s something like pain in his expression that Howard can't quite account for.

 

‘You do?’ says Howard, looking up at him. ‘You understand?’

 

Vince nods, turning his face away, his heart beating an erratic rhythm Howard hasn't heard before.

 

‘Yeah,’ he says, his voice thick as he abandons the blanket on the sofa. ‘I mean. It’s like you say; you can’t help it. And I suppose neither can I. Your “encounter” got there first.’

 

And with that he marches off into their bedroom, slamming the door behind him.

 

Howard stares after him in confusion. What just happened, he wonders?

 

Vince is scared, he realises. Of course he is.

 

Howard thinks about his next move carefully, taking the blanket in his hands and running the soft fabric over his cheek, the scent of Vince’s skin and hair product still clinging to it.

 

Then he gets up.

 

He approaches the bedroom door, and knocks gently.

 

‘Vince?’ he calls.

 

No response.

 

‘I won’t hurt you, Vince,’ he says against the wood of the door. ‘I promise.’

 

He can hear Vince’s heart thumping fast again.

 

‘If you don’t want me around... I completely understand and I’ll just go. I’ll never bother you or Naboo and Bollo again. But _I_ want us to be together in this. I’m still me. I won’t let it ruin things. I’ve wanted us to turn over a new leaf for a while now, and I know it will be a change, but actually, if you feel the same way then I think this could be a really good start.’

 

There’s just Vince’s heartbeat, thumping and fluttering a little at his words, and then he hears a soft rustling and light footsteps, and then the door opens.

 

Vince looks up at him, eyes shining and a little red from crying, and that makes Howard feel terrible all over again.

 

‘You mean...?’ says Vince.

 

‘Yes,’ Howard confirms, and he doesn’t care what exactly Vince is asking because he’ll do anything to make this work; to fix them.

 

‘Why didn’t you just _tell_ me, Howard?’

 

‘I thought you’d be scared. Not because you scare easily, or anything. I’m the one who usually runs away. But – well, it’s not exactly every day you find out this sort of thing, is it?’

 

Vince nods.

 

‘You mean when it’s your best friend?’ he asks.

 

‘...I suppose?’ says Howard.

 

Vince gives him a rather watery smile then, moving away from the door to let Howard in. He grabs him by the hand suddenly, leading him over to Howard’s own bed.

 

They both sit there in silence for a moment, and Howard smiles tentatively at him, before growing concerned. Vince is looking like he might cry again, but he’s also fidgeting in the way he does when he’s ridiculously happy about something. He must just be overwhelmed by it all.

 

‘I thought – ’ Vince starts, squirming and apparently fighting a giggle away. ‘I thought that after your party that was it.’

 

Howard shrugs, slightly confused that Vince would bring his party up, because despite all the embarrassment and awkwardness the night itself ended okay thanks to the bouncy castle. He supposes their friendship went back to feeling staler than ever soon afterwards, and maybe he just assumed that Howard would never confide in him again since. It doesn’t matter anyway; however Vince wants or needs to process everything is fine by him.

 

Vince’s hand is warm in his own, and he gives it a little squeeze of encouragement, because he knows it’s not easy for his friend to talk about serious matters.

 

‘Then when you left,’ says Vince. ‘I really thought I’d never see you again for a moment there.’

 

Howard nods in understanding.

 

‘When I came back to the shop I thought _you_ might be off with the band,’ he says.

 

This isn’t really true; after the reality of his acting stint struck, he’d heard all about Vince’s little embarrassment on stage while moping around the pubs in London.

 

‘Nah, they were all tossers, anyway,’ says Vince gently, right against Howard’s ear.

 

He’s so close, thinks Howard, turning his face to look into his big eyes.

 

He smells... good.

 

The kiss is soft; different from their first. Without breaking it, Vince lets go of Howard’s hand to hold him around his middle; determinately wriggling around until he’s in Howard’s arms.

 

Well, thinks Howard, this is certainly a better reaction that he could have possibly hoped for.

 

After a few minutes, when Vince gets off Howard’s lap and lets him change for bed (watching him all the while, if you please), he pulls his own pyjamas on, turns the lights off, and they climb under the sheets together.

 

Vince’s heart is thudding just as strongly, and Howard shuffles down to pull the material of Vince’s top down and place a kiss against the soft skin of his chest. He smells _incredible_ , and he tells him so. Vince laughs before pulling at Howard again until he’s all wrapped up in him once more.

 

Howard can’t believe his luck. It seems so _obvious_ now that Vince has made a move; so much more important than his being a vampire.

 

He loves Vince; always has.

 

‘It doesn’t really change anything, you know,’ says Vince in the darkness. ‘If you don’t want it to.’

 

‘What?’ says Howard. ‘Oh, you mean me?’

 

‘Yeah. Being gay or bisexual, or even if you’re just not sure, you don’t have to become anyone different. And like you said, you’ll be with me. We’ll look after each other, yeah?’

 

Howard blinks, rubbing Vince’s back.

 

‘Right,’ he says. ‘Because that’s what... this talk was all about. Me being...’

 

‘Like I said,’ says Vince. ‘It doesn’t matter if you do or don’t know.’

 

Howard pauses, an uneasy realisation taking hold of him.

 

‘Oh.’

 

Vince turns his face towards him, and Howard can see the concerned glint in his eyes.

 

‘You all right?’ he asks.

 

‘Of course, Vince,’ says Howard, resuming his petting. ‘Of course.’


End file.
